


Let's Play a Game

by felixies



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felixies/pseuds/felixies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't play Cluedo, Operation, or Chess with Sherlock Holmes. He finds it delectable to deduce when you make a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Play a Game

"Sherlock, I got your text and it said it was urgent. You better be telling the truth," you warn as you make your way into Sherlock's flat. You stop at the door to see the sight before you, a blindfolded Sherlock standing in front of the bookshelves groping slowly over the things around him. Anytime you come to visit him, especially since John moved out, you never know what situation you will fall into. Today is nothing new to you.

"Just the person I want to see." The irony is not lost on both of you as he takes off the blindfold and inspects the bag of stuff you brought over. "No cigarettes?"

"Not unless you want a slapping from both John and me," you anger. As you put the things away Sherlock inspects the room. You look behind you, unnerved at his quiet demeanor, and are surprised to see his eyes locked on your butt. To throw him off guard, you clear your throat, causing him to lock eyes with you and sit down on his chair. "Like what you see?" you tease.

"Coy doesn't suit you." Tapping on the arms of his chair he volunteers, "Let's play a game." He can definitely see you roll your eyes in discontent at the phrase.

"I'm not playing Cluedo, Operation, or Chess with you. I heard what you did to your brother the last time he played a game with you."

"Don't worry. It's a game for me to play, but you have to help me out," he pleads.

With a sigh, you concede. "What do I have to do?" That smirk of his is going to be the end of you, despite how cocky he can be.

"I want you to move one thing in this room while I'm blindfolded and have gun range headphones on. When you're done, I'll see if I can find it." He quickly grabs the headphones and places it on his lap. Handing the cloth over, you tie it around his eyes. You can't help but tie it tightly. "I still want to use my eyes after!" he barks. Ticked off, you grab his headphones and unkindly let it smack over his ears. A perturbed Sherlock is never a good thing, but you had a bad day at work. Having a go at the detective once and a while makes you feel better. To hell with the consequences.

Out of curiosity, you wave you hand in front of him. "Sherlock. Holmesie. Your fly is undone. I liked John's mustache," you test with no sign of a flinch from him. You start walking around, trying to figure out what to move. You take out your cellphone from your pocket. Why not take a call right now while Sherlock is awaiting your move?

"Hello?"

"Hi John. Guess what Sherlock decides to play?"

"Whatever you do, don't play Operation with him. He tries to deduce with every body part you don't get," John warns.

"Yeah, he had a field day when I couldn't get the bread out of the basket," you refer. "He's currently blindfolded with headphones on, wanting me to shift one thing in the room for him to figure out."

"Oh yeah, that game. He did that with me blindfolded. Said it would heighten my senses. That didn't last long when he got frustrated at my alarmingly lack of intelligence and memory retainment," John reminisces, pretty much reciting Sherlock's own words. "I would move something small. Try the cigarettes. He has a blindspot for those," he suggests.

You pull out a book. "I'm not going to play his game. He can just deal with it."

"Well, have fun with that." With a click, John hangs up. You tuck the phone in your pocket as you plop down at the chair that once occupied him, flipping through the book. Nonchalantly, you softly push his leg with your foot to signal him to take the blinders off. The excitement and fire in his eyes quickly extinguish seeing you read.

"You moved the book to your lap," Sherlock observes with aggravation in his voice.

"Holmes, I wouldn't make it that obvious now, would I?" you smirk. His lips slowly turn back up and starts to scour the room with elation.

"You moved the cigarettes. John always did that like I don't know where he puts them," Sherlock remembers. "You moved them from the skull to your shoes." He dives at your pair by the door, but disappointed to see them empty. He tuts and starts again walking around. He checks the bookshelves where you got the novel. You look up from the book and smile at the scene in front of you, even checking out his backside. If he can do it, why can't you do it too? He catches your eyes on him and starts turning out his pockets, as if to find something that you might have slipped. He grumbles once more finding nothing. His search goes on for ten minutes.

"This is impossible! I'm here everyday. You can't be that good!" he blurts. "Give me the book you have on your lap! Maybe you placed something inside, thinking you can put one over me." He doesn't wait for your consent as he grabs the book from your hands, flipping the pages waiting for something to fall out. Bored and tired from seeing him struggle, you stand up.

"Look. You're never going to find out what I moved, so just give up. I'm going to make some tea." He tosses the book aside, rubbing his hand over his neck. When you start walking to the kitchen, you cannot help but smile at your victory over Sherlock. Without warning, you feel his hands grip your arms. You try to move, but his grip tightens. "Sherlock! Get off of me! There's no need to be sore at losing to take it out on me!" Just then, you hear something you never expect to hear, laughter. It is small and subtle, but hearing him laugh scares you to your core.

He moves closer, pressing himself behind you. You can feel his mouth move to your ear as he whispers, "Oh, you are clever whether or not you realize it. The reason why you smiled just now is because you didn't move anything in the room, with the exception of the book. You knew that would throw me off. Seeing me look like a fool searching while you sit with the best seat in the house. Oh you loved it." He trails his hands down from your arms to the sides of your waist. The closeness is throwing you off guard. You never see him be this intimate with anyone before. Why you of all people? You don't want to like feeling his warm hands on you, or feeling his breath on your skin.

"I hope you had your fun, because now I'm going to have my own," he purrs. You can feel his fingers start to slip down your thighs. He loves the image in front of him, you blushing profusely under his touch. You can't help getting the urge to feel his lips on yours. Seeing his cupid bow lips up close leaves you to fantasize trailing its shape with your tongue. You start to reach out, wanting to run your hand through his dark curls, but quickly freeze when you feel his hand pull something out of your pocket. The both of you are staring at each other as he brings your phone into view. His other hand is still on you, his thumb hooked in one of your pockets letting the rest of his hand hang. "You moved your phone from your back pocket to the front because you didn't want to sit on it. Practical and I'm sure a habit you are unconsciously unaware of. Oh the look on your face is just priceless. Don't worry. If you still want to know how my lips feel, by all means, do it. The dilation and rosy complexion tell all."


End file.
